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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920431">Salt in the Wound</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathbequick/pseuds/FirstmasterMavis123'>FirstmasterMavis123 (Deathbequick)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Recipes for Disaster [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Badass Bitch, Captured, Cornwall, Dark Web, England - Freeform, Fluff and Crack, Set Up, Vibranium (Marvel), illegal, lame powers, lots of enemies, meh sorta serious, mostly crack tho, not completely bad, probably not good], sorta but not really but kinda evil, wakanda]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:01:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathbequick/pseuds/FirstmasterMavis123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wren just wanted to buy the slightly illegal Vibranium-Titanium alloy off of the Dark Web. But no, as expected, one big set up. Due to the almost millions that had gone into the various purchases of said precious metal, it is decided that to wring the secrets out of her, Wren Cole must live with the Avengers until she caves. Will they discover her kinda stupid superpower once all the forks start going missing?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Recipes for Disaster [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Inconspicuous out the window.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn't like it was too illegal, Right?</p><p>That was the phrase that darted through the mind of Wren Cole. She had accessed the Dark Web, and luckily for her, they were selling what she was so very intent on buying. She hadn't had the opportunity to do this before, but now she had free time, she was going for quality. She shifted in the darkness and typed in the address of this amazingly disgusting site. She looked around herself and closed the dark, sweeping curtains, flicking off her light and settling onto the bed with the computer on her lap. She hit enter and relished in the wash of cold entertainment of doing something despicable.</p><p>Far too many times to be savoury, Wren had explored this wondrous (horrible) site avidly to buy... dangersome or as such items, her hunger for certain illegalities growing and growing as she found more mouthwateringly vile objects of horror to ingest. It had been a while now; the last time she'd moved city and devoured the illegal goods was almost a year ago, but the stash had been good, and worth it. It had been the size of a small blocky TV. It had been expensive, but quality. Pure.</p><p>The newest, only slightly, slightly (completely) illegal craving of this teen was much more malicious than her usual serving, and she found her eyes hungrily scanning the laptop screen as she dug into her search results. Apparently they had over six hundred hits, Vibranium-Titanium alloy wasn't so hard to get hold of when you had a supplier in Wakanda. Of course, stealing as much as they were, they wouldn't be so much as a good dealer as much as an imprisoned one. The amounts being stolen were increasing vastly. It was bound to be noticed soon enough. She'd get what she could, when she could.</p><p>Wren's mouth actually watered when she clicked on a hit that showed a lump as big as a car, in a very badly blurred out room. Wren studied the lump closely. The smooth, ungrained surface of the black made it almost shimmer, the effect making Wren bite her cheek in anticipation. </p><p>Apparently it wasn't hollow, but this was the Dark Web and nobody could be trusted. The very first illegal thing Wren had bought Dark Web-wise had been a cheap plastic knockoff of an Iron Man suit that claimed to be legit. She was awfully naive back then. Reminiscing, she cringed at the memory of a twelve year old version of herself throwing a hissy fit in a field in the middle of Cornwall where a plastic Iron Man costume was dumped with a sticky note claiming 'Thanks for the six grand kid :)'.  Luckily this particular shipment was already in England. Wren sent a hasty email to the owner of this beautiful lump of expensive metal, asking if she could come see it. She would go see if it was legit before making any choices. His selling price wasn't too bad, just over seventeen thousand for this massive lump.</p><p>Within seconds, an email from 'NotT.StarK@Hotmail.com' told her to meet him in some field on the west side of a city called St Alban's. She emailed back quickly that she would be there, pulling herself up off the bed in the darkness. She left the room, feet light. She turned no lights on, instead manoeuvring the dark with experience from walking into and trying to avoid hundreds of doors. She hadn't ever seen a parcel this big and she wanted it. She left the house after touching up her lipstick and mascara, laptop tight underarm with a sledgehammer over her shoulder.</p><p>She walked briskly, turning a corner in the blackness, before setting her laptop on the floor. Hefting the heavy hammer over shoulder, she stepped into the swing and slammed the concrete head onto the lid of the laptop. It jolted up around the hammer, snapping as it hit the ground again. Lifting the shattered thing up, she threw it into the front pond of one of the houses as she walked. She knew this could potentially be a set up. She'd been buying too much of the same thing for too long, and even if she didn't leave a trail, somebody could have linked the amount being shipped into England to the amount of times she'd moved, which was stupid of her. She shouldn't have moved each time, on the same day. Judging by the email's sender, it was one or more of the Avengers. Just by guesswork, it would be Stark. She wouldn't put it past him to brag even anonymously. She flipped out the Nokia Brick in her pocket and dialled a familiar number. </p><p>"How much can half a mil buy me," Wren asked, face clinically blank. She could trust this man as far as she could throw him, which was nil because he was a 200 pound 90% muscle man. He could probably throw Wren over a lake, and not to mention he was pretty hard to lie to. He could trust her, well, at least more than Wren could him.</p><p>"My whole team," The male voice on the other side told her, his voice warm, a deep timbre to it. His tone was just as plain as hers. He wouldn't screw up or screw her over when this much was gong for almost free. His team wasn't giant, but they were good at their jobs. Wren gave the location to him before hanging up, and throwing the brick phone into the purse of a passing woman. </p><p>Wren put her hair up as she walked, into an elaborate braided bun, flicking on the sunglasses that had been hooked on the top of her hand-cropped top. She slid the leggings off her legs, revealing tight leather knee shorts, the space between the knee and the ankle filled with the fishnets she had on under. She flicked a small amount of lipstick on, the disguise hiding her from her usual modest style. She looked nothing like the nerdy kid that came through the town every day for the last year, instead being a confident, well-defined teen with a swagger.</p><p>The sun was shining brightly, and there were lots of people around. She couldn't risk her stolen motorbike, but she could call a cab and pay with cash. She did as such, paying and tipping generously before hopping on a train. It wouldn't be long till she'd be there, but she had brought another flip phone and checked that the team on twelve were in place, which they were. She threw the phone out the open train window, settling back into her seat and preparing for the journey ahead of her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Lynx and Marmite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, this chapter has lots of different words for disgusting. Please don't get offended about Wren's choice of 'Tacky' clothing. She was brought up in a house where modesty when it came to the body was highly valued. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wren stepped down off of the train, walking rather stiffly. She didn't think that her back would be so uncomfortable after that journey, so she flexed it and winced when the dull ache moved further up her spine. She regretted not asking for a ride with her paid 'bodyguards' who were most likely still scoping out the field the meeting would be held in. The pain was gone before she was out the station, which made her smile come back and her walking loosen. A horde of teenagers, all dressed like Wren, matching fishnets and all, were huddled around and blocking one of the exits. The fact that she looked so similar reduced the chances of her being seen and it made it easier for the girls to part around her when she pushed through.</p><p>Since Wren and 'Not Tony Stark' had agreed to meet at lunchtime the next day, she paid for a night in a B-n-B. The sun was already partially set when she arrived, so she just went straight to bed, collapsing on the creaky metal frame. She groaned when the mattress sank and the frame collapsed under her.  She got off of the heap of metal on the floor, pulling the mattress over to a different corner. It wasn't great but it would do. She fell asleep and slept through the night, waking early. </p><p>It was only seven when she fell asleep, meaning Wren had a whole five hours to pass before she got her hands on a sweet lump of metal. She started the day with dressing; she had brought a whole load of cheap clothes from a Primark and chose to wear the ones that looked the most tacky. If she looked... cheap enough, they would instantly assume she was a council estate princess who had got her hands on a big chunk of money. The top was a low cut, matte black sport top with, for some reason, a wonky red crown outline over the low-riding bust. A push up bra to make her look like she was trying too hard, a tiny bit of body glitter was smoothed over the top of her cleavage to make it look like she was heading to a party. A pair of dinky high-waisted booty shorts, light blue, mostly shredded denim, which had lilac lacy pockets that jutted out from underneath the frayed edges. A very slutty looking pair of red stockings, and a pair of red and black knockoff Hi-Tops were loose on her feet, laces undone and not to forget, at least six piercings in each ear. She remembered to put in a pair of giant disco-ball earrings, that were very ugly and clashed badly with the horrible outfit. Her hair, tucked into a bald cap, was replaced by a blonde wig, with dark gold strands that just reached her shoulders. She actually rubbed a large amount of hair gel into the roots and lightly rinsed it to make it look realistically greasy. She did her makeup light, before deciding she might as well go full out. Seeing as her outfit was meant to look like some teen orgy was about to happen, she rouged her lips with a 24 hour matte gloss which was a deep, horrifyingly glittery red (it also smelt like something vaguely resembling a plastic Pomegranate), then smoothed some (read: the whole cake of) contour onto the sharp edges of the top of her jaw and the corners of her forehead. Seeing as her outfit was cheap, she was using drugstore makeup, and she was slathering it on, making herself look very cake-y.</p><p>She put on a silver puffa jacket that amplified the shortness of the shorts, seeing as the tiny jacket was somehow longer than the tiny shred of denim.</p><p>Her natural eyebrows were very thin, so she made them slightly bigger and darker than their usual almost white. She drew a pair of slits onto the edge of one too, after gluing down the free-flying hairs. A tube of mascara and false lashes later, she was feeling like the Thing that crawled out the drain, the amount of cheap chemicals on her face feeling disgusting. To top it off, she had bought a very, very strong scented perfume and spritzed almost the whole bottle on herself (after using Lynx Africa-and-Marmite to deodorise), and then a nice glitter body spray, which she used to make her chest even sparkly-er. She swore to herself to never show her face in this part of Cornwall ever again. If the snipers didn't scare away whoever was setting her up, the clash of her face and the contrasting scents of Lynx, Marmite, Vanilla and synthetic Pomegranate surely would. She regretted her next action dearly.</p><p>The nail polish was yellow. That would have been fine, had it not been neon, glow in the dark and also somehow exceedingly glowing. She coated layer after layer onto her nails until it genuinely hurt to look at. Deciding she was done, she dumped the polish out the window and shuddered. She grabbed the backpack, stuffed to the brim with the promised seventeen million (she insisted in her head that the only way it had fit was because of her natural 'Too bad-ass for logic' way of thinking. Really, it was just 340 fifty pound notes, neatly stacked.</p><p>One thing she did before she left was turn the little paraffin stove she'd stolen on, waiting for it to heat up. When it was hot enough, she stiffened her fingers of one hand, held them slightly apart, and pressed them to the stove top. There was a loud hiss and smoke started to curl around her fingers. Her teeth clenched, but she held them there a few seconds later, panting and clasping the hand to her chest. She ran it under cold water until all the blackened patches of skin had rinsed off, and repeating with the other hand. No fingerprints meant no name. She turned the stove off and left, paying for breakfast and eating slowly. When done with the shoddy porridge, pancakes and bacon, she hitched the bag further up her shoulder and headed out. Heads turned in her direction. </p><p>Either the smell or the nail polish was drawing attention, and she revelled in the newfound stares. Most of them looked away, slightly disgusted by either the stockings (that looked like they belonged in a bedroom) or the ungodly face. She guessed it was the face, because she saw more than a few men and women checking out her figure in the little top that left less to the imagination than the three inches of shorts did. </p><p>It was only half ten, but the walk to the field was about an hour and twenty minutes away. Wren walked generously slow, making sure that she would be there after them. She'd better let them have time to get ready, she supposed they'd have a sniper or two also.</p><p>After her leisurely stroll in the somewhat sunny day, she reached the little meadow, hopping the barbed wire fence. As expected, a car sized chunk of metal laid in the shadows, behind a rusty looking blue Corvette with flat tires and a cracked windshield. </p><p>And standing in front of the Corvette was a group of six.</p><p> </p><p>(This is her outfit by the way. Ao3 has weird formatting)</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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